


Grass Grown In the Cracks

by imahira



Series: It's not the bullet that kills you but the way it passes through [3]
Category: Rookies - Morita Masanori & Related Fandoms
Genre: Canon - Manga, M/M, POV Third Person Limited, Past Rape/Non-con, Present Tense, Slurs, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-11
Updated: 2020-11-11
Packaged: 2021-03-09 23:21:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,052
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27504484
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/imahira/pseuds/imahira
Summary: Hiratsuka doesn't have any plans for this summer, or afterward. Imaoka wants him to make some, but doesn't have much concrete to offer either.
Relationships: Hiratsuka Taira/Imaoka Shinobu
Series: It's not the bullet that kills you but the way it passes through [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1962016
Kudos: 1





	Grass Grown In the Cracks

"There's something I wanna tell you," Imaoka says, when it's been a few months. "I mean, I don't, but I have to."

"Yeah." He's been all quiet, so Hiratsuka noticed, of course. Everybody's getting real keyed up about graduating. Minus Imaoka. But he stays quiet about everything fun.

The roof's empty except for them. Winter's wearing off and it's still a little cold, but not windy or anything. Some guys probably go their whole high school life without coming up to the roof once.

"I didn't notice at first. But it turns out I love you."

Not the kind of rooftop confession anybody dreams about getting. Even if it wasn't Imaoka giving it. There's supposed to be a buildup. An unsigned letter that could only be from one person, some cute stammering when you meet her on the roof, then she tells you about all the secret feelings she's been hiding all along.

Or maybe she doesn't. Maybe that dream gets harder to have once you grow up a little.

"I thought you should know, but it was the only thing that made you feel better." He sounds like he's wringing his hands or something dumb like that. "So... I figured it was better if you didn't lose that, even if... but maybe I should've said. I have to now, ‘cause you're not needing it as much now. So if you wanna stop..."

"Didn't make me feel better." The sky's gray. No clouds to look at, just spots where the shade of gray changes. The roof down below this one is its own color of gray.

A short silence, then Imaoka says, sounding pissed, "I thought it was."

It's funny, honestly, him getting mad about this. "I had to keep my mouth shut so no one heard me. That's all."

"I thought you felt better. It wasn't even helping?"

"It's a reason to keep quiet." Imaoka's whole family probably thinks he's a massive fucking jerkoff addict at this point. His door's locked half the time after school and it's not like his grades've gotten better. "You're always keeping quiet. I figured I'd try it out."

"Well, I liked it." Imaoka's voice is a little thick. "It made me feel better. So you don't have to, anymore. If you don't want to."

"Whatever. Why should I care?"

"‘Cause I'm like them."

"Yeah." Hiratsuka reaches for the pack of cigarettes in his pants pocket. Just to give them a pat. He hasn't pulled any out yet. It's just something to keep around. "Well, they weren't faggots, though. Just mean."

Imaoka stands there quiet behind him for a minute or so. He's always doing that. It's weird when other guys do it, but that's how Imaoka is. It doesn't really matter if the silence gets filled up or not.

"What's that mean?"

Hiratsuka spits onto the roof below and watches it vanish. The lower roof's too far away to see it hit and splatter. "Faggot's not the worst thing you can be."

Another silence. Hiratsuka spits again. Maybe he should take up chewing tobacco. More reason to spit. It feels like every fucking silence is getting longer. Not that he isn't used to it.

"Okay," Imaoka says finally. "You keep saying _faggot_ , though."

"Yeah?"

"So..."

Another long, long silence. Hiratsuka starts peeling the opening strip off the pack of cigarettes. Like with the spit, it's impossible to see the tiny strip of plastic hit the lower roof. The wrapping, split into two unequal parts, vanishes just as fast. Maybe it blows away somewhere as soon as it's out of sight.

"So which one are you?"

"What?" He knows, of course. Imaoka's just annoying him. And he wants to make him say it, if he's gonna be this much of a pain about it.

"Are you mean, or a faggot?"

"Who says I'm either?"

"‘Cause you wanna keep fucking me," Imaoka says. "And you _are_ mean, but you're not that kind of mean."

"I must be a fucking saint to put up with you."

"I thought you'd wanna stop. I thought you were feeling back to normal and—and you'd rather stop."

When Hiratsuka thinks about his stomach, these days, he pictures a drawstring pouch. Neck pinched between two fingers of a hand. And then somebody takes the strings, and _pulls_. Thinking about stopping makes the strings pull, and next, up comes the bottom of the pouch, drawing tight.

"You think I care what's going through your head when you get fucked?" He'd rather not know. But now he does, it's not like it matters. That's why he hasn't been doing it face to face. Just ignore it. Two months to graduation, or maybe three—nothing matters at this point. "Why do you give a shit? Nothing happened to you."

"‘Cause I love you. And I hate that somebody hurt you."

Man, this whole thing fucking sucks.

The cigarettes crumble easy once you get the paper opened up. They're gonna leave a smell on his fingers, but the bigger bits blow away on their own without having to drop them. They're never gonna hit the roof. They'll end up someplace miles away, or maybe stay in the wind forever. The smaller parts stick, and he has to rub his fingers together to get rid of them.

"Are you eating those?"

"No!" Hiratsuka flicks the half-opened cigarette away, bits of tobacco still clinging to his fingertips. "I'm looking at them."

Imaoka's hand is on his arm, his voice closer now. "Stop that."

He's gonna smell like cigarettes all day. "I fucking bought ‘em. Don't tell me what to do." With the hand Imaoka's never going to grab, he pulls another cigarette out of the pack.

"What if you have to quit again? Wasn't it hard enough the first time?"

"I'm not gonna smoke! I can do what I want with my money."

"You said you weren't even gonna take ‘em out, and now you are."

Imaoka's never gonna grab them or slap them out of his hand, so Hiratsuka starts shredding the second one. It comes apart the same way the first one did, just faster. The hand tightens on his sleeve.

"You're supposed to be coming to me. Instead of doing this stuff."

"Right now? You want that _right now?"_

He doesn't want to see Imaoka wanting it. If he has to look at that he's gonna puke all over him. Maybe Imaoka wouldn't mind, but it's a goddamn pain in the ass. All this keeping himself from doing shit. He never used to have to worry about that. Don't do this, don't look at that. Don't think about what you looked like when you wanted it.

"You think it's no big deal?" Cigarette #2 flips over the railing, and Imaoka lets go of his sleeve. Aided by a shove. Hiratsuka doesn't take the hand off his shoulder. "You think you can handle it?"

Imaoka doesn't move away. He looks down at Hiratsuka's hand, leaving tobacco bits on his shirt. "Do you..." His eyelashes flutter nervously. "I mean, you can't on the roof, but do you—need to?"

Who the fuck acts like this?

"Something's wrong with you." Hiratsuka lets go of his stupid shoulders. "Seriously fucking wrong."

"I told you, I want you to feel better! If there's something you have to do and then you'll be happy, then—then you'd better just do it."

He's standing too goddamn close. Hiratsuka squeezes the railing to keep from punching him. Not that he doesn't want to. It'd just mean looking at him.

"You always take everything out on me." It comes out as a whisper, but there's no wind or anything. It's unpleasantly clear and he doesn't even hesitate. "And then you're fine. So just do that and get rid of it all. That's what I thought you were doing."

"Get rid of _what?"_

"Everything that happened. I want you to be fun again." Imaoka's voice doesn't rise but it does waver for a second. "I don't like when you're like this. I thought you felt better."

The windless air doesn't feel right. Too much room to know what his skin feels like. It seems like it should always be windy, this high up in the air. Up where anything that goes over the edge vanishes before it hits the ground.

Imaoka's arms are tight around his whole arm this time, and his eyes are huge and wide. He has to look up when they're this close together, and Hiratsuka has to look down. Getting to see his face is barely worth the trouble.

"I'm thinking about tossing you," Hiratsuka tells him. He must really be freaking out if he can't even tell that much anymore.

He lets go a little. Like, _Oh, that's okay then._ He doesn't stop looking up, and his eyes are still big and dark even when Hiratsuka tries to look over the railing again.

"You'd get caught in five minutes." Imaoka's voice is reproachful. "No one else would ever kill me."

"You're real fucked up, you know that?"

He looks like a sad little dog asking for food. Hiratsuka's not crazy about dogs, but he crushes the pack of cigarettes against his hip like a used can and tosses it over the railing—not big enough to make a sound when it lands, so who knows where it winds up. Imaoka lifts pretty easy, whether it's for choking him, or for this.

His nose starts bleeding in the middle of sex, and when Hiratsuka looks up there's a sea of gore splattered around their heads on the concrete. It has to be Imaoka's nose, Hiratsuka's brain points out, because he's breathing all funny.

 _He_ was only bleeding from one spot, when it happened. It didn't look anything like this. This is nothing that's gonna bruise. He's not freaking out, because this is nothing like what happened. If anything, this is what Imaoka deserves for being so _fucking annoying._

He's breathing like one of those ugly little dogs with the flat faces. Staccato. Stertorous. Static. One of those words. He must've gotten knocked into the ground. Hiratsuka wants to push him even harder, slam his face right into the concrete. He wants to and doesn't, and his breath hitches.

"It's fine," Imaoka says around a gushing nose.

"Shut up," Hiratsuka tells him. Fuck him for all of this. Fuck Imaoka for making him wonder _why_ , why he doesn't want to. Why the fuck would he not want to make someone else go through it, why would _anyone_ not want it to be someone else. Instead of them. Instead of him.

People say they'd do anything for someone they love, and it's all bullshit, because Hiratsuka wouldn't do that for anyone. You'd have to be stupid. If you could push a button and make someone else go through it, instead of you, _anybody_ would push that fucking button, and Hiratsuka knows it because that's exactly what he'd do. And Imaoka is the stupidest person on Earth, and he wouldn't do it. Not if the someone else was Hiratsuka.

Not for the first time, Hiratsuka wonders if Imaoka is actually just out of his mind. This is the first time he's been so sure the answer is yes.

Imaoka squeezes his hand suddenly. He hasn't done that in bed. He just lies there while he's getting fucked, not making any noise, and then talks in monotone responses when they're lying there afterward.

He feels tired, at least, when they're done. That's the main reason Hiratsuka's kept going with it. He can jerk off again, thinking about the relief of being tired. Nothing works for him now that used to work before. He can't think about girls because girls don't want guys who can't think about girls without thinking _My dick worked when they touched it._

"You can do anything," Imaoka says, his hand warmer than the concrete that's been baking all day in the sun. "I don't care."

The bite makes his spine arch up like he just came right there. It's not what Hiratsuka would've picked to cum over, but his dick makes the decision, like it did when everything _happened_ to him. When his head stops spinning he thinks for a second he fucked up again. He let the wrong thing take over. Imaoka's bleeding now, but he's gonna be looking at bruises for weeks. Bruises are blood that wants to get out of your body but can't.

But he made Imaoka do that. His breathing slows down and he doesn't feel like throwing up. Like he did when it happened. Imaoka's not gonna make him do it all again. Like when it happened. He's the one who made Imaoka move like that. Of course his dick would appreciate it.

Imaoka doesn't turn to look at him, but his head tilts to one side, looking over his shoulder without looking. "Keep going." He spits some blood out that leaked down into his mouth and it lands in a spot already stained red. Hiratsuka stares at the spot for a second, trying to see which is the new part. They're both breathing slow and heavy.

Imaoka lifts easy, like always. He stumbles a few times, and Hiratsuka's none too steady on his feet himself. But he drags Imaoka to the edge of the roof and holds him there head out over the railing, the blood dripping out drop by drop.

Imaoka doesn't say anything. He just looks down, his eyes wide in profile. Not as wide as they should be. Just interested.

"Spit."

Imaoka looks at him, sideways. "Spit what?"

"Spit all that crap out. The blood, all of it. Blow your fuckin' nose."

"Why?"

"Quit acting like you wanna get fucking murdered!" One hand still holding the collar of Imaoka's uniform, Hiratsuka digs in his own back pocket for a tissue. "It's creepy."

"Don't give me your used tissue," Imaoka tells him—as if he's not tempted enough to throw him over. "I can't make myself bleed faster."

"Shake your head like a dog, then, or I'll do it for you! Get all that weird shit outta your brain and watch it go!"

"We should put our pants back on," Imaoka says, but he spits.

A few minutes of silence leaves the lower roof stained with a tiny flower of blood, the first visible sign it's shown that anything can reach it. It's a relief to know it's really down there.

"This is sort of hot," Imaoka says, wistfully, "but you have to get me my pants."

Hiratsuka lets go of his collar quickly. "Shut up. Is your brain all clean now?"

"Yeah."

"Get ‘em yourself, then."

"Sorry," Imaoka says as he's buckling his belt. "I just thought you'd been feeling better."

"I feel fine." He's a little tired, at least.

Imaoka accepts the used tissue this time, taking it very carefully with two fingers so their hands don't touch. When he speaks after wiping another, lighter layer of blood off his upper lip, it comes out in a burst. "What're you doing when you graduate?"

"I'm gonna travel the world." Hiratsuka doesn't think about it. It just comes out. Like a lot of his best ideas. He might not say the same thing in six months, but it's something to say now.

"Can I come?"

"You can't be crazy about it," Hiratsuka warns him.

"You're gonna get lost." Imaoka says it very seriously. "I have to come." He touches the back of his own shoulder, right under the collar of his shirt. "You can bite someplace it'll show."

His shirt must've been riding down. Hiratsuka can tell thinking about that is gonna make him way more tired than he wants to be, so he ignores it. "Shut the fuck up."

He is gonna be crazy about it. And he can't find his way around any better than Hiratsuka can.

Imaoka hands the bloody tissue back, solemnly, and it's hard to find it as gross as it should be when Hiratsuka just had his dick somewhere way grosser. He takes it and tucks it into his pocket where the cigarettes were. He'll probably huck it out a window later. Get rid of the last of all this weird crap from today.

"What would you do?" he asks, abruptly, a few feet from the door.

He doesn't ask that often. In fact, he can't remember the last time he wanted to hear Imaoka's idea of the right thing to do. He usually gets it anyway.

They're both through the door before Imaoka answers. "I don't know."

They've never talked about it inside the school before. When he hears the door close behind Imaoka, Hiratsuka thinks for a second about not saying anything at all back. Now that they're closed up inside.

"‘Cause you couldn't tell anybody," he says. _Not saying If it happened._ Not in here.

"I guess I'd tell you. And you wouldn't be any help."

"No, you wouldn't," Hiratsuka says, irritated. It's annoying that he'd even try to pretend. "You wouldn't say anything."

More silence. As Hiratsuka reaches the bottom of the first flight, Imaoka says, from the middle of the stairs above him, "Maybe I'd tell my mom. But..." His pace quickens as he notices he's fallen behind. "‘Cause, it's not like she could do anything. It'd just make her worry."

"Yeah."

"And I wouldn't want my dad to know about it."

"Yeah."

"And if I was _you_ —" they're almost astride now, moving back down into the regular hallways of the school. "I wouldn't want anyone to know at all, ‘cause it's so embarrassing. And what if every time they see you for the rest of your life, they just think about what happened, and what you must've looked like when it was happening."

Classes are going and there's no one in the halls. It still feels like people are around, even though it's just as empty as the roof.

"Right?"

"Yeah."

Hiratsuka's been wandering in and out of class these past few months. When he feels like yelling, usually, but sometimes when he thinks he might need to yell soon. When you don't want people to notice you—he's never given that any consideration before—it's best to do it between classes. He has no idea what time it is. They could be waiting a while.

"I don't think about it every time," Imaoka says. "Just sometimes. Not ‘cause I want to."

The bell makes him jump. They must've been up there for the whole period. It's been surprising him more lately. Like time doesn't move the same way anymore. Maybe two classes have gone by, or three.

With a minute left to go before people start filtering into the hallways, Imaoka says to him, "You didn't say which one you are."

"Shut the fuck up!" Hiratsuka speeds up, wishing indoor shoes were loud enough to _stomp_ in. Imaoka doesn't catch up and grab at him. Not at his arm or his sleeve or the back of his collar. He never does.

But if he did, Hiratsuka would have to punch him. Maybe he can tell.

"I wish it _was_ me. You're not good with this stuff."

"Shut up." He never shuts up, either.

"Can I come over after school?"

"I don't need to now."

He can't get it up twice in one day anymore. These are supposed to be his best years. Everything's downhill from here. Seventeen years old and all he has is stupid Imaoka waiting for him with his elbows on the bed. Every goddamn day for the rest of his life.

"That's why I wanna go to your place. We just have sex now when you come to mine."

Hiratsuka squeezes something inside his pocket, hard. It's the bloody tissue. It doesn't relieve any stress, just makes his skin crawl from the cold squishy texture. "I'm going home after school. You do what you want, I can't stop you."

A little tug on the back of his shirt stops him. Almost enough to turn, out of reflex. If he didn't know that there's only ever one person following behind him.

"You can always stop me." Imaoka's voice comes from below his ear. One head below, same place it's been ever since the second year of middle school. He's still holding onto Hiratsuka's shirt, almost too lightly to be noticed. "Do you want me to come over?"

"Fine. Yeah. Whatever."

Imaoka moves with him when he starts to walk again. Not many people in the halls. It's after lunch, Hiratsuka remembers. He ate quick and then went up to the roof near the end of lunch period. And Imaoka was kind of floating around the whole time, like he usually is.

"Will you stop saying faggot?"

"You're the one who brought it up."

"You're just saying it ‘cause you're mad."

That's exactly the kind of small-minded shit Imaoka would project onto somebody else. "You act like you never said it."

"Yeah, but..." Imaoka catches up and comes astride of him by rounding a corner more tightly. Some kind of sneaky math shit. Like going straight from home base to second. "Now I am one. So it feels different."

"Don't give me a reason to say it, then."

"I'm always gonna be one for you."

Hiratsuka looks around sharply to make sure no one's staring. The way Imaoka says it is flat and final, like it's whole rest of his life he's talking about, instead of something he thought up a couple of months ago. Like someone's making him be like this.

"Spinning your head around like that just makes people pay more attention."

"Well, you don't have to make me think about it too." He can't stand when people shove their own business up in everyone else's face, like people don't have their own shit to deal with. "Deal with it yourself."

"You're the one who keeps—" Imaoka stops suddenly. Not the way he pauses or waits when he's thinking something out. Just a stop. "Where are you going?"

It's better than a pause. Hiratsuka's not sure he could take another fucking pause right now. He doesn't have anything to fill it with. "I don't know, the world! Someplace. I'll figure it out as I go."

"I mean now. You never walk this fast to class."

"I need a nap." That pops into his head fast enough. And he really was planning on it. It was just under the surface. That's how the trip around the world is gonna work. The old him is a little bit under the surface right now, but it's all gonna come back to him when the time is right.

"Where are you gonna nap that isn't in class?"

"I've got a place."

Imaoka touches his sleeve—not grabbing or pulling, but touching. Hiratsuka sees it more than feels it, out of the corner of his eye. "I don't like you being alone."

"It's _my_ spot."

"I need a nap too," Imaoka says. His eyes are barely visible. Then he lifts his chin a little and Hiratsuka twitches back from the unexpected eye contact. "And you don't mind, right?"

It feels too much like a real question. The kind Hiratsuka really doesn't like. He's been going to sleep for an hour or two when he's over at Imaoka's. It's not like that means anything, it's not like he knows what it _could_ mean, but Imaoka sure wants it to mean something. He turns his head away quickly, looking half towards the wall on the other side of the hall. "Whatever."

"Do you mind?"

"I don't care."

"I don't want you to have bad dreams and be at school at the same time," Imaoka says. He sighs a little as he does. "It's too much at once. It's not fair."

Imaoka might be the dumbest guy. Just the dumbest guy on the entire planet. Hiratsuka limits himself to, "Grow up."

"It's weird for me too." The top of Imaoka's head bobs, in the very corner of Hiratsuka's eye, and he can't help a glance back in that direction. "I'm not gonna do anything. I just..." Imaoka sighs again. "I'd like if you did. Even though you already do, but—I mean, I like that, but... but you don't, really. So it's not the same. But—" he looks up again, head moving even more sharply this time. "I'm not gonna do anything you don't like. Can you just say yes or no, ‘cause you always act mad, but I don't want you to be thinking no."

What really pisses Hiratsuka off about this whole thing is how Imaoka acts now. Like he's so nice and thoughtful. "You think I'd be standing here if you _would?_ Who the fuck do you think I am?"

He doesn't need anyone being nice. Like he's gonna let anything happen now if Imaoka isn't careful with him— _careful_ , with _him_ —just because he let one thing happen.

Maybe it isn't what pisses him off the most. It's just the one he feels like thinking about.

"My best friend," Imaoka says after a long time. Hiratsuka has to think back, as he jams the key into the lock of the flower-arranging club's room.

"Oh, shut up!" He rattles the knob. Maybe they changed the lock on him. Just to fuck up his last months here a little bit more.

"I was getting ready to say it all week." Imaoka sounds embarrassed for himself, but like the worst kind of loser, he keeps trying to make excuses. "I didn't want to waste it. I thought you were gonna be mad and maybe I'd cry or something. Did you turn the key all the way?"

"God, you sound like—like a fuckin' idiot."

What he sounds like is something that's gonna start another argument Hiratsuka doesn't have the energy for. Also, it doesn't pack the same punch now that Imaoka really is one. Which makes no sense, but somehow Hiratsuka can just feel the power leaking out of it.

What's Imaoka gonna say? _Yeah, ‘cause I am one._ There's nothing you can say back to that.

"The knob isn't gonna open it. Turn the key both ways."

Hiratsuka rattles the knob again, and when he turns the key and feels it go all the way this time, he rattles the knob even harder to prove how important the knob was. Imaoka doesn't say anything, but he's thinking something.

The club room looks and smells about the same. It gets stale during the day. Never any lingering smell of flowers. Which is good. Stale air makes it easier to sleep.

"Oh," Imaoka says, unimpressed. "It's this place."

It doesn't feel right that the room is exactly the same. Not that it's an important room. He just spends an hour or two sleeping here when he feels like it. Not even his important sleeping.

It just feels weird that the air in here is the same, and he isn't. And Imaoka is and isn't, and he can't get Imaoka to go away. Even Imaoka can't get himself to go away. He got to pick the ways he's different now, and Hiratsuka didn't. And it might as well be last year, the way this room smells.

"Where do you sleep? The table?"

"Closet."

"Oh."

He's been getting undressed in front of Imaoka since middle school. It doesn't matter any more now. He can't sleep with his clothes on, so Imaoka can look, or not look, or pretend he's not looking, or whatever he wants. Hiratsuka's not changing how _he_ acts over anything Imaoka does.

Even if he hadn't just been fucking him up on the roof. It's not like Imaoka gets to look at him during that, and that's the important thing. So this doesn't matter at all.

Imaoka doesn't turn the light off before climbing into the closet after him. It's a question of simple manners. Or they're both too tired to think about lights.

"Do you have to shut the closet door too?" Imaoka doesn't sleep naked unless he's already naked for other reasons. Which Hiratsuka knew even before all this started happening. They used to sleep over in middle school. "It feels weird."

"I get cold otherwise." That might not happen this time. Imaoka's lap is a lot warmer than the bedding. "Plus it feels all secret and cool. Plus someone might walk in."

"I want it open. What if you suffocate?"

"I happen to like the air in here. Makes me feel like I could wake up and it'll be a year ago."

Imaoka's quiet for a minute as he feels along Hiratsuka's hairline, like he thinks there's some danger of it getting in his eyes. "If you do," he says at last, "I won't know I like you anymore."

"So? Be a whole lot easier."

"Yeah, but..." Imaoka fidgets. He'd better not keep that up while he's being a pillow. "I like knowing. It's embarrassing thinking about last year. And before that. I feel like I was dumber then."

"I mean easier for me."

Imaoka's hand covers his eyes, blotting out the thin line of light from outside the closet. "You're really annoying."

"What do you want me to do, start acting different for y _ou_?"

"No." Imaoka yawns. "This is fine. I'm just letting you know."

The burst of energy from the roof is fading for Hiratsuka too. In some ways he appreciates it a lot more, the way his head feels all clean and empty after he gets off. It's easier being alive, in a way—he realizes now—that it used to be all the time. But it makes him anxious, too, because he knows it wears off. It wears off on its own. His whole body does what it wants now and it doesn't feel like that's ever going back to normal. He used to be able to jerk off when he felt like it, and the closest he gets to that now is when he's using Imaoka. He can't get back there alone anymore.

Imaoka's head is empty all the time, of course, so he's got it easy.

"Can I kiss you good night or something?"

"No," Hiratsuka says, just for fun, and goes to sleep immediately, his head pleasantly warm in Imaoka's lap.


End file.
